


Love looks not with the eyes

by HandwithQuill



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandwithQuill/pseuds/HandwithQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A @Repeatinglitanies prompt:With her own father unable to do anything, Belle is blinded because the clerics see reading as the cause of her “improper” behavior. Since then, Belle’s time has been spent trying to work around her disability. Trying to remain independent despite being unable to see. One night, she hears the voice of a man named Rumplestiltskin. He offers to read to her in exchange for spending her nights with him.  (as always, I strayed a little.)</p>
<p>Warning: Un-beta-ed</p>
<p>A/N: Title is half of a Shakespeare line</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love looks not with the eyes

They told her it was night. She had to believe them as she had now way of confirming for herself. They had made that impossible. She still remembers the last thing she saw, or the last happy thing as she shakes the image of the glowing hot poker away and concentrates on green and brown rushing passed her as she urges Philippe to run faster through the forest. The saddle bag with the lunch she packed and the book she wanted to read thump just behind her calf, but the clearing she liked was still a few minutes ahead.

She had spent the day pleasantly enough before riding just as fast back to the castle. Pulling Philippe to a stop before passing his reins to a groom. She bound up the stairs to the castle, but at the top a guard was waiting for her. The next day an a half she didn't like thinking about.

The clerics and her father waiting in the Council Room. The accusation of impropriety and her beloved books taking the blame. Her outrage and fear when the 'answer' was pronounced. She looked to her father as she was dragged, kicking and screaming, away. He just stood there, horror on his face. But he just stood there.

Now, tonight, she waits for the sounds of her 'maid' sleeping, before she sits up in bed. She can hear the crackle of the fire and feel it's warmth. She got up and, hand outstretched, made her way to the window. Digging under the pillows, she releases the latch and opens the chest that the window seat actually is. She sighs as the musty book smell wafts out, once again relived that her favorite books were kept here. Hands caress the spines, knowing them by touch, she pulls out one she knows is blue with gold lettering. She hugs it to her chest for a moment before opening the cover. 

Her hands move along the inside, trying to find the ink. When she finds it, she follows the swirls with her finger, making out each letter. The message her mother left in the book when she gave it to her always made her happy and it gives her the strength to carry on. No matter what, she will _not_ give up her books!

Moving back to the bed, she placed her finger on the first word. The plain print didn't leave as much of an imprint in the paper as the ink did, but knowing the story from memory helped. 

She had made it through the first paragraph, when something about the room changed. She _knew_ someone was in the room with her, but the door had not opened.

“Hello?” she said, trying to sound calm even as her hand slipped under her pillow and grasped the dagger she kept there.

“You won't need that, Dearie,” a man said. She turned towards the voice. 

“Who are you?”

“Rumpelstiltskin.”

Belle tilted her head. She had heard that name. A powerful sorcerer who was know for his love of deals. Deals that rarely worked out well for the other person. Most people had to call for him or make the trek to his castle. If he came to you for a deal...

“What can I have that you would want?” she asked. 

“Direct to the point, I see?” He chuckled. “It's more of how can we help each other.” She felt him take a few steps towards her and there was a gentle tug on her book. She let it go and was glad when he simply set it on the bed next to her. “I'm afraid,” he said, cupping her chin up and tilting her head back forth, before swiping he pad of his thumb over her eyes, “That I can't repair what was done to you. But I'm sure, by now, you would like a story you haven't heard before? I have a vast library collected over my long life. I could read them to you.”

“Why would you? Again, what do I have that you want?”

“The price, Dearie, is having to spend that much time in my presents.” His thumb was caressing her cheekbone and she found herself leaning into it.

“That doesn't seem like much of a price to me.”

His chuckle time was bitter.

“We'll see. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal,” she nodded and held out her hand.

** ** * ** ** 

That was months ago, and nearly every night since then, he arrived with a new book. He usually arrived shortly after she “went to bed” for the night, and she knew people were wondering why that was getting earlier and earlier. 

For the first month or so, he sat on her window seat, reading, while she sat against her head board. It took them that time to get through the fist book as she frequently stopped him to ask questions or he would scoff at either the wording or go on a rant if he thought it was incorrect. That would lead her to ask more questions and they would spend the night debating. 

By the second book, he had conjured a chair and sat next to her bed. She had thought it being a work of fiction, they would debate less, but she had not realized that it was based on a real event and he spent many nights telling her the true story. 

Books three took the longest as they spent most of the night in conversation before he even started reading. He told her about so many things. About the sunset glinting off the deserts of Agrabah. About the sounds of a mermaids song and the smell of the moon flowers in full bloom. Things that were no longer part of her world. Not as long as her father 'protected' her. He never deigned her a question and only shied away from the ones that she knew were too personal. There was one more thing she wanted to know and she hoped he would allow it. 

She was waiting for him, sitting in the middle of her bed, biting her lip, head cocked to hear or feel the displacement of air that heralded his arrival.

“I got us a new book,” he said as she felt his magic ripple as he conjured his chair. “It's from a different land. Bland place, everything was black and white. Anyway, the man I was dealing with said it was all the rage with the nobility of his world. I think you'll like it. It's supposed to be one of those romances you like so much, but it has a lot of what that world calls 'science'. That's what they have instea- Belle? Is something wrong?”

She felt him reach out and take her hand. She gripped it in return and swallowed.

“Rumple? I was wondering if...well would you be all right with me asking...” She trailed off. She had subtle tried before and he always shied away. She sighed and move her head to where she thought she was facing him, free hand reaching out for him. “I want to see you.”

“Belle,” he sighed, clasping her other hand. “Not even my magic and fix your eyes. The price would be too great.” 

“I know, but that's not what I meant. I want to _see_ you. The way I see everything.” She tightened her hands on his. “Will you let me?”

“You mean-” She heard him inhale. “Belle, I'm not a pretty sight when one uses their eyes.”

“Please, Rumple?” She tugged their joined hands. He sighed heavily and she felt him stand and sit on the bed next to her. She could feel his eyes on her face and she wondered what he was seeing before he sighed again and raised her hand to cup his cheek. 

She frowned at the texture. It kind of felt like leather, but soft and supple as her own skin. She brought her other hand up and ran her thumbs along his cheek bones. Then up the bridge of his nose and his forehead. She gently traced his eyes, then back to his ears. The tip of her fingernail trailing along the shell, before going up into his hair. It was soft. She dragged it between her fingers feeling the indents that made her think it was wavy. 

After that she brought her hands back up to his skull, smiling at the contented noise he was making as her fingernails lightly scrapped his scalp. One hand stayed playing with the hair at his nape while the other one ventured back down around his neck and up under his chin to his mouth, her thumb swiping side to side.

“Belle,” he breathed. She heard the rustle of fabric as he fidgeted next to her. She brought her hands down and around to rest on his shoulders. She pushed.

“Lay down.” 

He went willingly and she moved to kneel next to him. Her hands moved down, feeling the designs in the brocade of his waistcoat. But she only paused slightly to slip the buttons through their holes. She pushed it open and let her fingers run along the cool, smoothness of his silk shirt. He said nothing as she pulled it free of his trousers and pulled it off. 

Her hands returned to his shoulders, feeling the strange texture of his skin. She splayed her fingers, trying to feel every inch of his chest as she ran her hands up and down. He hissed when her nail brushed against his nipple and, even as he reached for her wrist, she does it again, feeling it pucker under her fingertips. 

“Belle?” He's breathless and she realizes that she is as well. 

“Do you-” She clears her throat, “Do you want me to stop?” 

He doesn't answer, but presses her hands more firmly against his chest. She lets out the breath she was holding continues to caress his chest. She likes the feel of it under her hands. She also likes the small sounds he starts to make, so she changes her touch. Softer here, harder there, trying to find out where and how they come about. 

He starts moving restlessly next to her and she known that she want to was well. Bringing her hands downward, she traces the line of leather, moving along his hips until she feels the edges of the stays. His hands grip her wrist again at her experimental tugs. 

“Belle-” 

She frowns at the edge in is voice and bit her lip as she wonders if she's being presumptuous. Maybe he didn't want to, maybe he... 

“I understand,” she tells him, trying to tug her hands free. “It's just you are the only one who doesn't treat me differently. I thought maybe...but of course you don't want someone who's not whole.” She tugs her hands again, but stops at the curse he mutters. He lets go of her hands and sits up. His hands cup her face and he rests his forehead against hers.

“Never, sweetheart! Never! I could never not want you. And anyone who would judge you on what they did to you doesn't deserve you.”

He kisses her then, a chaste press of lips that she's slow to return. When she does, he starts to move his lips. She copies the movement, moaning at the brush of his tongue. She's so caught up in this pleasurable development, that she doesn't notice that he moves them until they break apart for air and she realized that she's laying down.

“My turns, Sweetheart,” he whispers into her neck, leaving kisses while his hands run up and down her sides. Now its her turn to moan and sigh as his hands map her body, slowly divesting her of her nightgown. She gasp, reaches for him, hand landing in his hair when his mouth joins his finger plucking at her nipple. 

“Rumple!” 

Her nails lightly scratch down his back until they come in contact with the leather of his trousers. Moving around, she pulls sharply at the stays and as her hand worms it's way in to feel that part of him, he groans into her chest. They move with equal haste to remove the rest of their clothing. 

She can feel him pressing against her entrance, as he kisses her deeply, his hips moving slowly to press against her, him all the way inside her. Her arms are around him and his forehead pressed to her's as he starts to rock, encouraging her to match his movements.

The feeling is nothing like she thought it would be when she read the books the made them take her sight. It's everything and better and she needs more and tells him so. She can feel his grin from where he was laving at he neck and he whispers to her, to let the 'more' come, let it wash over her. And it does, starting with a warmth in the soles of her feet, it washes up her leg to where he's moving inside her and she screams and arches and clenches around him. 

He's still moving and the waves come again, crashing through her again as he jerks against her and stills. She feel weightless as he whispers pretty words she can't focus on as he rolls them and pulls her tight against him. His heart is slowing under her ear and his hand is playing in her hair. She smiles and places a kiss to the skin under her head. 

“Rumple?”

“Hm?”

“I think this proves I got the better end of this deal.” 

His chuckle and the kiss he presses to her head follow her into her dreams. Good dreams that she know will become a reality of them together.


End file.
